


History, Huh?

by bibliosoph



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Canon, Shooting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosoph/pseuds/bibliosoph
Summary: With the craziness of the election gone and a place to call their own, Alex and Henry settle into their new life together. And, even though the people know about their relationship and they are still totally and completely in love (and obsessed) with each other, figuring out how to handle work and life and politics can create some problems. But they've been through worse, and they'll always have each other to lean on for support when they need it.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 46
Kudos: 161





	1. One

It was strange to have mornings like this: mornings where Alex could take his time waking up and, when he did wake up, seeing Henry nestled against him. On mornings like this when they were both in their brownstone and they didn't have anywhere they needed to be, Alex liked to just sit back for a moment and take it all in. The smells leftover from whatever coffee, tea, or food had been made the day before. The sounds of Henry's gentle breath, of David's blissful snore, and the sounds of the traffic outside. The sight of Henry by his side with his perfect hair mussed from sleep and with the beautiful light draped across him and making him look like some sort of fucking angel. The sight of Henry was, no contest, his favorite part of these moments. There had been a time when this––a peaceful lie-in with him––seemed impossible. Now that Alex had it, had Henry, he had to revel in it. 

There was always the looming thought, somewhere in the depths of Alex's overactive mind, that something would happen. That the entire royal family would drop dead and that Henry would be made King or that he would get hurt. Or, which seemed more implausible somehow, that Henry would decide that all of this (everything they'd been through and would continue to go through) wasn't worth it and he would pack up his things and put David in a dog carrier and just...disappear. 

Realistically, Alex knew that it wasn't really going to happen, but he couldn't get those ghostings out of his mind. He constantly had to remind himself that this, this established life together, was different. They were out, they were proud, and they were stupidly in love. 

Henry stirred beside him, pressed his his face into Alex's bare chest. To silence his reeling mind, he picked up Henry's copy of Le Monde.

"Mm," Henry hummed, blinking his eyes open and adjusting to the morning light. Alex set down the newspaper and smiled at him. "Morning." 

"Morning, baby."

Henry beamed at him and pulled himself up to a sitting position, planting a quick kiss onto Alex's cheek. 

"I think I'll make you some breakfast," Henry said. 

"Oh, really? Are you sick of my huevos rancheros already? Dios mio, you're breaking my heart." 

Henry laughed, his eyes shining in that glorious way that made Alex's heart pang. 

"Of course not. I just think that you should have a taste of a real, English breakfast once in a while." 

"Mm, flavorless food and black tea. My favorite."

Henry poked Alex's ribs, but then Alex caught his wrist and pulled Henry so he straddled Alex. Alex brushed back a stray strand of silky, blonde hair from his face and kissed his forehead. "Hey, Hen?"

"Hm?" 

"I just...I really love you."

Sometimes, when Alex got too deep into his own stupid, spiraling thoughts, he felt like he had to tell Henry that he loved him as if that were in question. It was obvious that his fears of being abandoned were ridiculous, but he thought that if just said those words, he could explain to Henry what he was feeling without having to say it. I really love you meant that he wanted this forever. It was a question and a promise and an assurance and so much more. 

It was always so much more with Henry. 

"I really love you, too, Alex. More than...more than words can describe."

"Must be an awful lot, then. With you being a writer and all."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Watch it or I won't indulge you in that disgusting cinnamon nonsense you enjoy so much." 

"Aw, baby, I'm sorry. Mi corazón."

Henry cocked a (perfect, fucking perfect) eyebrow at him. "I really need to learn Spanish one of these days. What does that mean?"

Alex ran his fingers up and down Henry's slender, muscular arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He moved his fingers up to Henry's chin and jaw, stroking his face and committing every memory of it to detail. "My heart," he whispered. "Eres mi sol," he kissed Henry's jaw. "Mi luna." A kiss to his eyelid. "Y todos mis estrellas." His cheek. "You, Henry, are my sun, my moon, and all of my stars." 

He captured Henry's lips in his own.

Breakfast could wait––they had more important things to do on this lazy Saturday morning.


	2. Two

Henry had one more day to get everything in order for the opening of the Brooklyn youth shelter he had been working on. It was months of hard work coming together in a singular, terrifying moment. He had to write and give a speech to thank everyone the staff and to tell the public about what he hoped to achieve with this shelter. He'd been working on the speech for a few weeks now and he was fairly positive that it had gotten about as good as it could get, but he decided to send it to June just for a once-over. Well, actually he's sent it to her two days ago but he hadn't heard anything yet. The anxiety of the whole ordeal was forcing him to pace nervously around his small office in his brownstone as he waited for June's reply to come in through his email. 

Alex crept up behind him, circling his arms around Henry's waist. Henry jumped at first at the touch because he hadn't been expecting it, but then he melted into feeling and turned to kiss Alex softly. Alex hummed in approval. 

"Hello, love," Henry said, resting their foreheads together. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you had studying to do?" 

Alex had been studying like a machine ever since he started law school. Henry didn't mind it much because he was plenty busy himself, but this week had been especially challenging for Alex with major projects on the horizon. He'd spent most of his time at the NYU library chugging coffees and texting Henry whenever his brain got too overcrowded and loud. 

"I thought I'd come by and see if you needed anything. Big day tomorrow, yeah?" 

Henry beamed at him. He'd been talking about it for months, of course, so it wasn't like he expected Alex to forget or anything, but the fact that he dropped his studying to come by and check in on Henry made Henry's heart soar. He would never stop falling in love with Alex over and over again. 

"It's...quite a lot. I've sent my speech to June but I've yet to get a response. Does that mean it's bad or––"

"Bug loved it," Alex said. "She told me. That's where I just was, actually. Lunch with her. She asked me to give you," he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Henry, "this." 

Henry furrowed his brow and unfolded the piece of paper and saw his speech on it. He quickly scanned the page and found that it was basically the same as the speech he'd originally written with only a few minor changes. 

"She didn't change much," he observed, putting it into his own pocket. 

Alex shrugged and pushed his face into the crook of Henry's neck. "It was already pretty perfect. As I think I've told you before...you're kind of amazing."

Henry smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Kind of?" 

He could feel Alex roll his eyes. "You're still the fucking worst."


	3. Three

Alex was, in short, so full of pride that he thought he might burst. Henry looked nervous which was completely understandable, but Alex just couldn't stop smiling. This was everything that Henry had worked for for months now and it was all finally coming together in one beautiful, big moment. There was a big crowd outside of the brick building, some wearing an assortment of pride and "history, huh?" shirts that brought an even bigger smile to Alex's face. They were being ushered to the stage with Henry front and center behind a small podium with Alex to his right. Cash was off to their left, keeping a nervous eye on the crowd just in case. 

This was the sort of feeling that Alex had on election night. The sort of moment and emotion that felt too big to be held in his chest. As Henry started his speech, one that Henry had read to him so many times that he started mumbling it in his sleep (which Alex found adorable), Alex found his hands twitching. It was too much love. Too much pride. Too much adoration. He couldn't keep still with all of these things swirling around his chest like this. And, when he looked to Henry, who was in a stunning baby blue suit jacket with a pride flag pinned to lapel, he shot him a smile. It didn't matter if Henry was too invested in his speech to see it––he knew that Henry would be able to feel it.

Alex's eyes scanned the crowd so he could see just how many people appreciated his wonderful boyfriend. Their smiles warmed his heart. Made this already amazing moment somehow more amazing. This, the crowd in their pride shirts with smiles on their faces, was the reason that he and Henry could finally be together in plain sight. People like those stood in front of him, the ones that had assembled at Buckingham Palace and on The National Mall, were the whole reason that they had been able to go public with their relationship. These people were a symbol of the changing times––a symbol of progress. 

Alex's smile faltered when he saw a man in the crowd. There was nothing, like, explicitly suspicious about him. He looked normal and clean and wore a button down tucked into jeans, but Alex could feel that there was something off about him. He looked to Cash, looked to Henry, trying to warn them about that man in the white button-down, but then he raised his hand, pointing his finger at Henry. 

Alex squinted, wishing he had worn his glasses. 

No, not pointing his finger. 

Pointing a gun.

"Henry, get down!" Alex screamed, suddenly springing into action.

There was a loud bang, the unmistakable sound of a shot fired, and Alex launched himself at Henry, shoving him to the ground with his shoulder. Henry fell flat on his ass and Cash quickly grabbed him to get him off the stage. Alex felt something rip through his chest, but it didn't matter right now. All that mattered was getting Henry to safety.

He fell to the ground hard since his leap had been so forceful. His head hit the ground. His ears were ringing. 

"Alex!" someone shouted. They were so far away. Was he drowning? Was he underwater?

"Alex!" someone else shouted. British. Someone British. Henry. Alex tried to push the pain and the ringing down and out of mind. He could deal with that later. For now, he needed to get Henry to safety. Had he been hurt? The man, the one with the gun, had been aiming for him.

Alex buttoned his black blazer, hoping that the dark fabric would hide the burst of red already soaking through his shirt. Cash grabbed him and half-dragged him into a car, slamming the door shut when Alex was safely inside. 

"Henry," Alex whispered, leaning towards Henry who was shaking next to him. He cupped Henry's jaw in his hand. He wiped tears away. "Are you hurt? Did he get you?"

His chest was throbbing. He didn't realize that getting shot would hurt this much. He knew it would be painful, but he always thought that people passing out from the pain seemed a bit dramatic. A bit too movie-like. But now that he was experiencing it...going to sleep sounded pretty fucking nice. 

Henry shook his head. "I––you got me out of the way. Cash? Was anyone hurt?"

"Don't think so. Amy said she's apprehended him, but no one can find the bullet. There was only one shot, though. They'll figure it out."

No one can find the bullet, Alex thought, putting his hand to his chest. It's right here. It's inside of me. 

Henry must have noticed the pain in Alex's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Alex wouldn't hear it. 

"How far are we from a safe house, Cash?"

"Ten minutes." 

Alex nodded, feeling relief wash over him. Henry pressed his face into the crook of Alex's neck, tangling their hands together. Now, with Henry safe, he let himself feel. He'd been running on adrenaline, but it was gone, now. Now he was feeling the full force of the bullet pushing through his chest. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. 

Ten minutes, he thought to himself, giving Henry's hand a squeeze. Ten minutes. 

Henry shuffled for a moment, pulling his hand out of Alex's grasp to brush tears from Alex's cheek. Tears that he hadn't permitted to fall. He closed his eyes when he felt Henry's thumb brush his cheek, but he quickly opened them when he saw Henry gasp in horror.

Henry looked at his hand in shock. 

Red. 

Fuck. Alex forgot about the blood on himself. 

"Alex..." he checked Alex's eyes like they would show him where the bullet was. Then Henry was pulling at his clothing, unbuttoning Alex's blazer, checking for the mark. 

"You––Alex, why didn't you...oh Christ, Alex. Jesus...Cash! Cash, he's hurt! Oh, Christ...Alex? Alex, love, you idiot, what did you do?"

Alex managed a shrug and leaned his head back against the headrest. "I had to...he was aiming for you. I'll be fine. 'M indestructible."

He could feel himself losing his grip on reality. He could feel the life leaving him. They had to be close to the safe house, now. Henry would be safe. He would be okay. Alex could close his eyes. He could rest now. Henry would be okay. 

Henry and Cash were talking somewhere far away now. With every word, Alex sank deeper into the water, away from their voices and the car and the tears on Henry's face as he tried to put pressure on Alex's wound.

He would be okay. He'd be fine. He just needed to rest.

Just for a moment.


	4. Four

Henry was relieved that both he and Alex were okay. He nuzzled his face into the crook of Alex's neck, just to reassure himself that Alex was there and alive and okay. His hands were shaking, so he tangled his fingers with Alex's knowing that Alex's touch would help still him. It had been so scary and so short. It was a hazy memory at the forefront of Henry's mind. He couldn't fid words to describe the rushed chain of events, but he was so grateful to Alex for getting him out of the way in time. If he hadn't...

Henry shuddered at the thought and shuffled in his seat. Alex took a shuddered breath so Henry looked up at him and saw tears falling from his eyes. Wanting to do whatever he could to comfort him, he removed his hand from Alex's tight grasp to wipe the tears from his cheek, but he saw that something red was left behind instead. He pulled his hand away and examined it. It was bloody, but Henry hadn't been shot. Surely, even with the surplus of adrenaline, he would have felt or registered getting shot. Despite his best efforts to hide it, he gasped at the sight of the blood on his palm and now against his love's cheek. Alex blinked his eyes open at the sound.

Henry tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. His mind raced a mile a minute with thoughts of Alex injured. Alex keeping his injury from him. Alex...

"Alex..." he searched Alex's eyes for some kind of answer. Normally, Alex's eyes were frantic until they landed on Henry's. Normally, seeing Alex's brown eyes instantly put Henry at ease.

Henry tentatively started to unbutton Alex's blazer on the off-chance that there was a sign of a wound under the dark fabric. He pushed the lapels to the side and fought the urge to vomit when he saw it. A red, bleeding mark by Alex's heart. The blood seeped through the white shirt and, Henry realized, the blazer too. He looked up at Alex, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Why hadn't Alex told him? It looked terribly painful and surely Alex knew that it was bad, so why didn't he tell Henry? Or Cash? Anyone? Was he planning on just pretending he hadn't been hurt until they were at the safe house? 

Anger was rising in his throat like bile. 

"You––"

No. He wasn't going to yell at him. 

"Alex, why didn't you...oh, Christ, Alex. Jesus...Cash! Cash, he's hurt! Oh Christ, Alex? Alex, love, you idiot, what did you do?" 

He was trying not to cry. The tears threatened to fall but he had to push them back because he needed to be strong for Alex. He couldn't...he had to keep himself together. 

Alex shrugged and leaned his head back against the headrest. "I had to...he was aiming for you. I'll be fine. 'M indestructible."

Alex's face paled and his eyes fluttered shut, leaving Henry in an unbearable silence. He put his hand over Alex's heart––softly so he didn't hurt him or make it worse––and felt that it was still beating. Faintly, but still. 

"Cash! There's...he's bleeding. What do I do?" 

"Put pressure on it. I got clearance to go to the hospital. Amy and Shaan will meet us there. Stay calm, Henry. We'll be there soon."

Henry nodded and removed Alex's blazer, clenching it into a ball and holding it steadfast against the wound. 

When they got to the hospital, Alex was wheeled off on a gurney and taken into surgery. Henry was seated in a private waiting room with Cash, Shaan, and Amy who were all taking calls and explaining the situation. Henry's hands were still shaking and he was still holding Alex's bloody, crumpled blazer. He had been so focused on keeping pressure on Alex's wound that he hadn't really let himself think about it all yet. What it meant. What he felt about it. 

He was...he was scared. Terrified. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd always known that Alex was too good to be true. That there was no real rhyme or reason to their relationship and that Henry didn't fit into the life that Alex had pictured for himself. Henry had expected Alex to break up with him at some point––to realize that everything hadn't been worth it. That Henry wasn't worth it. He was just starting to get used to the fact that Alex loved him as much as he loved Alex and that they really could have a future together but now...

He'd been in hospital waiting rooms before. He was used to the waiting. The terrible, terrible waiting. The picturesque sadness and stillness of the waiting room, the taste of cheap coffee and the burn of it in the back of his throat. After his father, he thought that there would be no more of that. He thought that he could leave that sort of hurt behind for good, but here he was. And Alex...well, this was so sudden. 

Just this morning they had woken up next to each other and made slow, passionate love in their house. Just the two of them in the morning light of Brooklyn. Henry had helped Alex pick what to wear for the event. He'd rehearsed his speech one more time, just so that Alex would kiss him when he was done. But now...

Henry fell asleep in the waiting room after a while. The exhaustion and the stress caught up to him and shut him down. He was awakened by Shaan who said that Alex was out of surgery and that Henry could go see him if he'd like.

Henry was on his feet in an instant, still clutching that bloody blazer like it was Alex himself. Shaann led him back to Alex's room and nodded solemnly before disappearing.

Henry swallowed and pushed the door open.

Alex was there, dressed in a white hospital gown and hooked up to a variety of machines that beeped and chirped every few seconds. His skin was too pale and his breath was too deep. Henry stood there, looking at his lifeless boyfriend, and allowed every emotion he'd suppressed to come roaring out of him in full force. He fell to the floor with his back against the doorframe, and cried. Big, ugly sobs pushed through him in forceful waves.

He thought about his father and how he had been in that same spot––machines keeping him alive if only for a few moments. 

He thought about the future he and Alex had promised each other––one full of huevos rancheros and late nights in the thick of finals season.

Their home and how he could never go back there if Alex didn't wake up. 

Alex's smile in the morning, the one he smiled right before he kissed Henry like it was the only thing he looked forward to. 

His heart which was broken. 

Just like Alex's.

Torn straight through.

Irreparable damage.

Alex, love, do not go where I cannot follow you.


	5. Five

June found him there in the doorframe to the room. She wrapped her arms around Henry's shaking figure and pulled him against her chest, stroking his hair tenderly while he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on his breathing. It took a few moments of her gentle touch for him to stop crying, but when he was done, he felt no better. Crying about Alex's state wasn't going to help. But the only tool that Henry could wield with any precision was a pen and writing Alex okay on a piece of paper or a napkin wasn't going to make him wake up anytime soon. Henry felt completely useless, even when June led him over to the seat by Alex's head and put his hand on top of Alex's like it would do something. 

"I––I'm not strong enough for myself, let alone the two of us," Henry told her. 

She sighed and pulled up a chair next to him. "You don't need to be strong," she said, "you just need to be here. Knowing that you're here...it'll help him. You are his whole world, Henry. You know that, right?"

Alex had told him as much countless times, but the words never really stuck in his mind. It seemed, to him, like a moment of fleeting happiness. That Alex was so wrapped up in the kisses or the cuddles that things just sort of poured out of him without much thought. He knew, or he wanted to believe, anyway, that June was right. That he was Alex's world. Because Alex had always been at the center of Henry's universe, even before they started dating. 

"I––I just love him so much. And I know he loves me, but I just...what will I do? If he's...if he's gone?"

June shook her head. "He's not gone. He's not going to leave you. Look, I've known Alex forever, and I know that this is bullshit he won't stand for. He's in there, somewhere, fighting and clawing his way back out again. Fighting to come back to you, Henry. Every fight he's ever made since you two started dating, it's all been for you." She reached into her purse and grabbed a folded piece of paper and handed it to Henry.

He raised an eyebrow and took it but didn't open it. "What's this?"

"I'm not really sure," she sighed, "but he left it for you. He gave it to me to give to you in case...in case something like this happened. I haven't read it. He wouldn't let me touch it, just told me that I would know when to give it to you."

With shaky fingers, Henry unfolded the paper and saw Alex's handwriting on the page in front of him. June placed a kiss on his forehead and left the room so Henry could have time alone to read and process whatever sat in his hands. 

H,

I thought about leaving you some sort of encrypted flash drive with a video of this, but I know you prefer to have these things written down, so I'm going to try. 

I've written, like, fifteen of these at this point, but they're not what I want them to be. I thought about having June look over this for me, just to make sure my thoughts are coming out of the pen right, but I decided against it. If this ever needs to be given to you, I want you to be the only one (or the first one because if you want to share it with someone else I won't really be around to stop you) who reads what I'm about to say.

When I think about everything––that missed chance at Rio, our forged friendship, the kiss at the White House, and everything after––I can't help but think about what an absolute idiot I've been. You'd probably say it's because I'm American, but I think it's something else. I may not have been born a prince, but I was born as something else. A storm, I think. A tornado. I'm so headstrong, stubborn, and fast-minded that I never stop to look at the things around me and really appreciate them. You changed that about me. You quieted the storm inside of me, or maybe you were the eye of it. With you, I always stopped to appreciate things because, for the longest time, I didn't know how long I would have the chance to see that place your mouth goes, the way you jut your chin out to be tough, or any of the other remarkable and beautiful things I've always loved about you. 

Obviously, if you're receiving this, I haven't done the thing I've wanted to do since we came out with the truth. God, even the thought of leaving you without having done that one thing makes my blood boil. And, fuck, H, I want you to know that I'm fighting. I know that sounds stupid considering the state I'm probably in as you read this, but I say that I'm fighting with certainty because there is no world or situation in which I would get myself hurt and not claw my way back to you. If I do die, I need you to know that it was because I couldn't fight anymore. Because I lost. I would never give up on you or the future we've planned with each other because there's honestly no life I could live without you in it. 

That one thing. I know you're thinking about it. I know that you're reading this and you're making that face that you do when you're confused but you want to understand. I've been wrestling with it: telling you what I want, here, in the safety of this paper. I feel like I know you, but I also feel like there's this whole undercurrent of you that I've yet to experience and maybe never even will experience, so I honestly don't know if telling you will make things better or worse for you. I know you (and everyone else) think that I don't think about things before I say or do them sometimes, and you're (generally, admittedly) right about that. But when it comes to you, I can't stop thinking. And I want to get this right. I want to do right by you.

The thing is: I love you. I know that you know that, but I want you to really get it. The depth (or lack thereof. The endlessness) of my love for you. When my mom asked if this was forever, I knew the answer without having to think about it. Yes. I mean it, Henry. For fucking ever. And I don't know what that means now with the way that I am when you read this, but I want forever with you. It's all I've wanted for so long now that I forgot what it was like to wake up in the morning and not have my first thought be about you. To have my first action to be to either think about or actually kiss you in the morning. And I want this, all that we've been doing, to be a forever kind of thing. Something tangible and real.

When I've thought about this in the past, I've been affronted by this fear that maybe it's not what you want. That a life with me would ruin everything you've built for yourself with the foundation and the youth shelters. So, I want you to just think about it, okay? I know you like thinking, especially when things are rough, so I want to give you something to think about, sweetheart.

Think about me. Actually, scratch that. Don't. Think about us. And this isn't a proposal (as if I would pass up the chance to do the proposal of the fucking century the right way) but I want you to think about if this with me, if being with me forever, is something that you want. And if you'd care to put a label on it at some point. Or a ring, I guess, in this case. 

So, think of me, baby, because I'll be thinking of you.

Forever yours,

A

P.S: Beethoven to his "Immortal Beloved"

Even in bed my ideas yearn towards you, my Immortal Beloved, here and there joyfully, then again sadly, awaiting from Fate, whether it will listen to us. I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all. Yes, I have determined to wander about for so long far away, until I can fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, can send my soul enveloped by yours into the realm of spirits — yes, I regret, it must be.


	6. Six

It had been a week. A full week of pure torture for Henry as doctors came in and gave the same, devastating news: Alex wasn't getting any better. He wasn't getting any worse, either, so at least that was something, but it wasn't enough for Henry to hold onto. To really grasp.

He hardly left Alex's bedside. He slept in the room, sitting in the uncomfortable chair, and only left when he had to shower or eat. There was work he should have been doing, but he couldn't bring himself to touch any of it. The only things he could do were hold Alex's hand, reread that letter to the point of memorization, and look back at the photos and videos of the two of them he had on his phone. 

Alex's parents, June, and Nora came in often to visit, but they never asked Henry to leave them alone with Alex. They didn't really say much, either, just held his other hand or told Henry that it would be okay. What the fuck did they know about it all? Henry wanted to scream at everyone that told him that it would be okay because there was no way of knowing that. For all they knew, Alex was losing the fight on the inside. For all they knew, soon it would come down to either keeping him hooked up to these machines or letting him go. Even the bloody doctors didn't know fuck-all about Alex's condition or if it would improve. He wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake them and demand that they run more tests or do something to figure it all out, but he always held his tongue and clasped his hands firmly in his lap. 

Besides, yelling at doctors in frustration seemed more like something Alex would do. Henry...well, Henry would just silently wait like he had with his father. He would let his knees bounce for hours on end until the exhaustion won and he fell asleep.

After a week, Henry was beside himself with the thought of future grief. The world kept turning, and Alex remained still. It broke his heart to be with him, but it broke it more to be apart from him. There was no moment in the day where Henry was not in complete, indescribable agony. He didn't even know who he should be mad at for all of this. The shooter for firing the shot? Alex for jumping in its path? Himself for letting Alex push him out of the way? It didn't help for Henry to feel that uncontrolled, undirected rage. If anything, it hurt him more to think about, especially when he blamed Alex. He knew that, if the roles had been reversed, he would have done the same exact thing without a second thought. Besides, he couldn't be mad at Alex when he was in such a state. If Alex got better (when Alex got better), Henry would scold him for being such a love-struck fool and for giving him a such a scare. 

If he tried hard enough, he could picture that conversation. It would be a day or two after Alex woke up, once the doctors had confirmed that he was well on the road to recovery. He would scold Alex for being such a lovely little idiot, and Alex would grin at him, open his arms, and coax Henry down with a gentle sweetheart or baby. Henry would, of course, give in almost immediately and slide into place against Alex because he loved Alex too much to stay angry for long and he would just be so fucking happy that Alex was alive and awake again.

Eight days after Alex had been shot, Henry was asleep by his bedside. Sleep came to him in fits and starts, but it was never peaceful. In each dream he had, he dreamt of Alex getting shot in slow motion, the horror that ran through Henry when he realized Alex had been shot, or of Alex's seemingly inevitable funeral. So he didn't like to sleep much anymore. Sometimes, though, his body just shut down without his consent.

A muffled groan brought him out of his sleep. He went to move his hands to rub his eyes to wipe the sleep off of them, but his left hand wouldn't move. He opened his eyes and saw that Alex's hand was holding onto his like it was his lifeline. His eyes slowly moved up Alex's arm, across his paled shoulder and neck, and settled onto his face. 

Brown, pleading, frightened eyes stared back at him. 

Henry was out of his seat in an instant. "A––Alex?" he cupped Alex's cheek in his hand. It was warm to the touch, though it was still a bit too pale for his liking.

Alex tried to speak, but all that came out was another strangled groan. He had a breathing tube lodged down his throat, Henry suddenly remembered. 

"You––you were having some trouble breathing after surgery," he explained, his eyes still on Alex's like he might disappear if Henry even blinked. "I––I'll go get the doctor, okay? I just––I can't believe you're actually awake."

The weight of it suddenly dawned on him. 

Awake. Alex was awake and alive and trying to speak. Henry's eyes filled with tears before he could stop himself. Alex tried to move his hand up to brush them away, but he groaned again and his arm fell back down onto the mattress. Henry wiped them away with his free hand and let out a watery laugh. 

"I love you," Henry said, realizing that he hadn't told Alex that since he woke up. "I love you so much. More than––more than anything. You are my whole world, do you hear me?"

Alex nodded, his eyes still wide and disbelieving. Henry planted a kiss onto his forehead, wishing so much that the damn breathing tube wasn't there so he could finally kiss Alex's lips. So he could finally go home.

"I'm going to get the doctor, okay? They'll probably have to run some tests. I love you, I love you, I love you."

He sprinted out of the room, not giving a damn about who saw him. He sprinted to the nurses' station and slammed his hands down on the desk, completely out of breath. 

"He...awake..." he tried while trying to catch his breath. "Alex...he's awake."

The nurses stared at him for a second before leaping into action. Satisfied that they would go take care of it, he sprinted out to the private waiting room and threw the door open with as much force as he could muster. The shock of it made the coffee in Nora's hand jump out of the cup. 

"He's awake," Henry gasped.

The whole Claremont-Diaz family and crew blinked at him before launching out of their seats and heading back towards Alex's room. On her way out of the waiting room, June gave him a hug.

"I told you," she muttered against his shoulder.

He squeezed her back, burying his face in her hair. "You were right," Henry agreed. "He's a bloody fighter."


	7. Seven

The hour of tests made Alex feel suffocated and anxious. He knew, logically, that the doctors were just doing their jobs, but he couldn't help but get awfully angry about the whole situation. All he wanted was a moment of fucking peace with his family and Henry, but the doctors were crowding him and no one had taken that stupid tube out of his throat. Since he couldn't speak, he had to spend an hour listening to everything the doctors said about his condition and where things would go from here. Well, he tried to listen, anyway, but he was too distracted by Henry's blue eyes wide as he took down important information and the way his mom's hand held tightly onto his own. When the doctors cleared out, everyone gave him hugs and told him how happy they were that he was finally awake again, but no one explained what had happened or how long he had been unconscious.

When his family felt sufficiently satisfied with his state, they went off to find the doctors to talk more in depth about what his recovery would look like––to get "the literature" of it all. Which left him and Henry alone.

Henry, who looked like he hadn't really slept in days. Henry with his hair mussed and his eyes red from old tears. Alex wanted the breathing tube out so he could tell Henry how much he loved him, but it was still there. 

"I'm sorry," Henry said, sitting down on the chair next to Alex's bed. Henry took Alex's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb across the back of Alex's hand. It brought Alex a bit of relief, but not much.

Alex shook his head and looked around trying to find a pad of paper or something, but he didn't see one. With his free hand, he mimed writing. Henry looked at him with his head tilted and his eyebrow cocked as he tried to discern what Alex meant.

"Oh. Oh! Yes, of course. Paper." He yanked open his messenger bag, keeping one hand firmly in Alex's grasp, and pulled out a journal and a pen, handing them over to Alex. Unfortunately, Alex needed two hands for the job––one to hold the book open and one to write––so he guided Henry's hand to rest on his leg while he managed to write. His fingers were sore and shaky from being unused, but he managed to put some words down in a handwriting that made him feel like he was a five year old learning how to string letters together for the first time.

First of all, I love you. So fucking much.

He showed Henry the words and Henry smiled softly at him, that private smile that Alex knew was reserved for him and him alone. He took the journal back and wrote again.

What happened? I know I was shot (which I don't regret, by the way, so stop beating yourself up about it like I know you are) but what happened after? Don't remember. How long was I asleep?

He showed the journal to Henry who's eyes quickly scanned over his messy words.

"Yes, right. So, you jumped in front of me and took the shot," Henry explained, obviously choosing his words carefully, "and I'm very, very cross with you for that."

Alex tried to laugh, but he couldn't. He tried to laugh with his eyes instead. Based on Henry's smile, he got the message.

"But I also love you very, very much, so I'm going to try and work past it. Cash got you here in the nick of time. I was terrified that we were going to be too late or that you had lost too much blood. I––I was so scared, Alex. You wanted to make sure I was safe before you let anyone fuss over you, which was really quite idiotic considering the location of the bullet and all, so when I saw the blood, I panicked. I had to...I had to keep pressure on the wound on the way here. You passed out almost immediately after I found the wound, and I just––" he took a sharp breath. Alex could see the tears forming in his eyes. "I thought we were going to lose you."

Alex found his hand again and gave it a squeeze before reaching for the journal and pen again.

You could never lose me. Even if I had...you would never lose me. 

He showed Henry the paper. Henry laughed a watery, broken laugh.

"Anyway, they got you into surgery immediately. The bullet was," he pinched his fingers together, leaving about half an inch of space between them, "this close to your heart. You've been asleep for eight days. I've––we've all––been here in the hospital practically the whole time. The doctors didn't know if you would wake up."

Alex frantically sought out the pen and paper again.

You are the reason I'm okay.

Henry laughed at him. "I'm not. None of us could do anything. We just had to wait. It was dreadful."

Alex shook his head.

You were sad. You were having nightmares.

Henry raised an eyebrow at him. "I––how did you know?"

I could hear things. Bits and pieces. They were far away. You were always the closest, though. I could hear you cry. I didn't want you to be sad. Don't be sad anymore. I'm okay. We're okay. It's going to be okay.

Henry kissed his forehead and nodded. "I'm not sad anymore. I'm just––I got your letter."

For a moment, Alex had no idea what Henry was talking about. Henry pulled something out of his pocket and Alex recognized it almost immediately. The letter he had written, the one he had given to June to hold on to, in case something like this ever happened to him. 

"I didn't show it to anyone," Henry told him. "I read it so much that I think I've gone and memorized it at this point. And, Alex, you and I both know I'm not great at just...saying things like you are, but I need you to know how much I love you." He took a deep breath. "Do you remember when you stormed Kensington in the rain and stood outside my window shouting obscenities that made my forebears roll over in their graves?"

Alex nodded.

"Well, the next morning when I came back to you, you told me that your mum had asked if this, if we, were forever. If you were a thousand percent sure about it. You told me that you were and I––I laughed. Honestly, despite your instructions, I did let it go to my head. I thought to myself––I must certainly, without a doubt, be the luckiest person alive. Despite it all, despite me and my countless flaws, you told me you loved me. That you were a thousand bloody percent sure about me. It was more than I ever could have hoped for. I was granted access to more of you than I had even dared to dream about."

The urge to kiss Henry was so strong that Alex thought he might go into cardiac arrest soon if he couldn't.

"Well, I am, too, Alex. I'm a thousand percent sure that I want to spend my life with you. I don't know what kind of life I can promise you, but if you'll let me, I'd like to give it all to you. And this isn't a proposal, but it's a promise that, if and when the time comes, I am a thousand percent sure that I'll say yes."


	8. Eight

It had been two days since Alex woke up, and Henry hadn't left his side. He still had the breathing tube in, but he was allowed to have his phone back so he downloaded an app that spoke his typed words in a funny, robotic voice that always made Henry laugh, especially when Alex tried to tell him "I love you" and the robot would read it out with no emotion. When Alex wasn't busy fiddling with the app or having silly, light-hearted conversations with Henry, he was catching up on a week's worth of news.

"They didn't even mention that I jumped in front of you in this article," the robot voice said. Alex, clearly exasperated, showed Henry the offending article from The Huffington Post.

"Yes, well, maybe they knew what all of this press was doing to your ego."

Alex rolled his eyes and tapped Henry's lips with two fingers. It was a system they had worked out since Alex couldn't kiss him with the tube still lodged down his throat and secured around his mouth. Anytime Alex wanted to kiss Henry, he tapped two fingers against the spot. It was almost always Henry's mouth, but sometimes it was his cheek, neck, or forehead. One time, Alex had given him a tap on his fly and Henry had quickly shut that down.

"For fuck's sake, Alex, we're still in hospital."

They would have a lot to make up for when they were finally free of the sterile white walls and close to zero privacy, but Henry could wait. He could wait forever if he had to because at least Alex was here and alive and cracking jokes with the silly robot voice.

"I want to leave," Alex told him through the robot.

Henry hummed in agreement and snaked his arms around Alex's waist. "I know, love. I do, too. They just need to keep you a little while longer. The worst is over, though."

That night though, when Henry was fast asleep against Alex, the two of them cramped on the tiny bed, he was woken by a wheezing. His eyes snapped open and his mind instantly ran over all of the possibilities. He looked at Alex who was, it appeared, struggling to breathe. Henry instantly pressed the button that fetched a nurse who appeared in the room in less than ten seconds.

"He's choking!" Henry shouted. The nurse nodded and a swarm of nurses and doctors and Oscar Diaz (who had fallen asleep in the waiting room) flooded the room. It was about ten minutes of tests and adjustments and Henry and Oscar were banished from the room as the doctors tried to figure out what was going on.

"He'll be okay," Oscar told him.

Henry wanted to believe him, of course, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. "How can you be sure?"

"He was choking," Oscar shrugged. "You can only choke if you can breathe, hijo."

As it turned out, Oscar was right. When Henry and Oscar were allowed back into the room, Alex was sitting up in his bed with a shit-eating grin on his face. A grin that only came without the blockage of that damned tube. He had two small lines running into his nose, but no tube. Henry nearly started sobbing right then and there.

"Hey, baby," Alex tried to say. It came out hoarse and broken, but it didn't matter to Henry. He sprinted over and jumped (carefully) onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Alex's body, pressing his face into the crook of Alex's neck. He felt two fingers tap gently on his mouth and he looked up in confusion, but Alex kissed him instead of supplying a verbal answer.

And it was so good. Henry melted into the kiss, so elated to finally be able to kiss Alex after all of the waiting. His hands wound themselves in Alex's curls and he felt Alex smile against him, adjusting them so Henry was straddling his lap. Alex's fingers were featherlight on Henry's back and the feeling of it all sent shivers down Henry's spine.

Alex pulled away and grinned at him. "I love you," Alex croaked.

Henry nodded and felt tears, happy ones, stinging his eyes. "I love you, too. So much."

"Even with my new voice?"

Henry nodded emphatically. "It'll come back soon, love. This is progress. A step in the right direction. Tough, I could have done without the dramatics of the choking. You scared me half to death."

Alex laughed at him and it felt so fucking good to hear that sound again. Henry curled up against Alex's side, shooting a glance at the door. He'd totally forgotten about Oscar, but he was already gone. He made a note to thank him for the space later.

The next morning, Henry got to wake up with a kiss from Alex. 

"Did I tell you about my plan?" Alex asked. His voice was still a bit hoarse, but he'd been drinking a lot of water and sleeping had helped it a bit.

Henry shook his head. "I don't think so."

"I was going to pretend I had amnesia. Or, like, that I forgot who you were."

Henry glared at him. "You wouldn't dare."

Alex laughed and kissed his forehead. "I mean, H, I love you, but that's a once in a lifetime––"

"You'd better mean that––"

"Opportunity."

Henry looked at him. "Why didn't you do it, then?"

Alex sighed and pulled Henry closer to him. "It was the crying, I think. The constant pain you were in. When I woke up and I saw you with your eyes red and your princely hair all mussed...I didn't want to cause you any more pain. I'd already done enough."

Henry stared at him, his heart breaking in his chest at the thought of Alex feeling like any of this was his fault. "Alex, listen to me. You didn't hurt me. The guy that shot you hurt me because he hurt you."

Alex smiled at him and kissed him briefly. There were so many kisses now. Alex was clearly making up for lost time. "You said you were cross."

"Not at you! Not really. I'm just...I'm so happy you're alive and okay. I'm not...I could never be mad at you. Not for something like this. You saved my life."

It hits him. Alex did save his life. All this time, he's been thinking about this more as something reckless that Alex did to try and play hero, but he wasn't playing. He was a hero. If he hadn't jumped in front of the bullet, Henry probably would have died. It hurts him when he realizes how highly Alex must think of him––how much he must love him––to make Henry's life the priority.

"Hey, why are you crying, sweetheart?"

Alex's hands are firm around him. He wants to stop crying. He's been crying too fucking much these days. "I love you."

"I know, baby, I know. And I love you, too. So why are you crying? Is this...is this a new revelation?"

He hears the pain in Alex's voice. "No. Christ no, Alex. I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you in Rio at the Olympics." He takes a deep breath. "Sometimes, like right now, it hits me that you have the audacity to love me back and that this, everything that's happened, is real. I know I'm a proper idiot for not getting this sooner, but I just realized that when you jumped in front of the bullet, you put my life before your own."

Alex kisses his forehead and tightens his grip around Henry. "Henry, baby, I've tried to tell you as much. When I say that you're my whole world, I mean it. You. Are. It. There's no one else. Nothing else. If it ever comes down to this sort of thing again, I'll do it in a heartbeat. Every fucking time."

All Henry can think of is how excited he is to finally go home and get Alex all to himself in the privacy of their brownstone. He's never been great with talking about how he feels, but he knows a surefire way to show Alex. He taps two fingers against Alex's crotch, earning a delighted gasp from Alex.

"The second we get home," Henry assures him.

Alex shakes his head. "Nope, I'm already home."

Henry raises an eyebrow at him. 

Alex rolls his eyes. "You're my home."


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, yeah, this is a lil angsty but it only goes up from here, my friends! I swear. All fluff and cute lil moments with our two favorite boys working through everything and coming out even stronger.  
> Just...right after this chapter.

The first thing Alex Claremont-Diaz wanted to do when he was released from the hospital was go and get food. Much to his delight, Henry was happy to oblige and accompany him to a small taqueria they had discovered shortly after moving into their brownstone. Unfortunately, Alex had only been released as long as he agreed to carry around a portable oxygen tank hooked up into his nose until his follow-up appointment with the doctor, but it seemed like a small sacrifice to make. Nearly two weeks in the hospital had made him a bit thinner than normal, too, so he knew that a big, hefty meal was exactly what he needed to feel more like himself again.

"You might not want to order too much, love," Henry told him as they waited in line, two PPOs standing a few feet behind them.

Alex rolled his eyes. "I haven't eaten real food in, like, two weeks. More than that. I was so nervous for the shelter opening that I didn't really eat anything for a week before that. So, three weeks. I need the calories!" 

Honestly, Alex was terrified of what came next. Henry had been so amazing and supportive through it all. He'd even taken it upon himself to keep track of all of the information Alex would need to make a full recovery. But Henry hadn't seen him yet. Before he was discharged, when the doctor came in to give him a final look over, he asked Henry to leave the room because he didn't want him to see what his body had become after the whole ordeal. Alex had almost cried when he saw the wound alone. They'd made a pretty lengthy incision to get it out and now he had a red, puckered, stitched up mark near the center of his chest. Then there was the actual shape of his body. He'd lost an alarming amount of weight from the week long coma, and even more from not eating much before or after.

"You lost nearly twenty pounds," the doctor had told him after he'd gotten Alex up on the scale.

Twenty pounds felt like a lot more. Alex was always on the smaller side, though he had been pretty (in his opinion) muscular, so the twenty pound zap to his body looked like a lot more. His ribs stuck out a bit and he was skinner everywhere. His face was a bit more drawn than normal, too. And then there was the fact that he couldn't walk too far without collapsing in a fit of exhaustion. The doctors told him that was normal after not having really used his legs in nearly two weeks, but by the time he was discharged, he still couldn't manage to get very far without feeling faint. So he was in a wheelchair for the time being. The doctors told him that he wouldn't be in one for long as long as he did his physical therapy and practiced short walks throughout the day. They claimed that, soon enough, he'd be able to walk with a cane and then normally again.

Henry was a godsend through it all, even in the taqueria. He pushed Alex around as Alex held onto the oxygen tank in his lap.

"The doctors said that you need to take it easy, love," Henry told him as they moved up a bit in the line. "You haven't been eating actual food much and you were getting everything from an IV for over a week. It might shock your system if you suddenly fill it up with heavy foods."

"It'll be fine," Alex assured him, still set on ordering a ridiculous amount of food.

It was, in fact, not fine. Alex regretted not listening to Henry as soon as he finished his second burrito. He could feel his stomach rejecting the intake almost immediately. 

"I––I'll be right back," he said, already starting to wheel himself off in the direction of the bathroom, knowing that this would end in disaster. 

Henry raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you okay? Do you need something?"

Alex shook his head. "Nope, just using the bathroom. Back in a sec. Don't touch my chips!"

He managed to get to the bathroom fast enough, making to lock the door behind him and take the tubes out of his nose before promptly throwing up the contents of his stomach into the toilet. When he was sure that nothing else could come back up, he flushed and put the tubs back in his nose and took a deep breath of the clear air that ran through them, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. The heaving had hurt his chest, but he knew that it would be fine. He and Henry could go back to their house and Alex could spend the rest of the evening being a useless couch potato. 

When he wheeled himself back to the table, he made sure to put on his best fake smile for Henry's sake. "Well," he said, rolling back up across from Henry, "you were right, Your Highness. No more food for me. I'm totally stuffed."

Henry didn't look convinced. "Everything alright, love? You look pale. And a bit sweaty."

Alex rolled his eyes. "I'm good. I'll get the chips to go. Are you ready to go home?"

Henry nodded eagerly. 

As soon as they got home, Henry helped Alex get comfy on the couch and snuggled up next to him, throwing a blanket over both of them.

"Netflix?" Alex asked, picking up the remote. 

Henry didn't reply. Instead, he cupped Alex's face in his hands and kissed him. Alex instantly melted into the kiss. It had been too long since they had the privacy to really indulge in this sort of thing, and Alex was living for it. His lips worked against Henry's, eager to finally have him back in this position. Alex's fingers made quick work of removing Henry's shirt and Alex let himself take a good look at Henry's strong chest. He made a note to send a fruit basket to whoever had gotten Henry into playing polo because, clearly, it had done him a lot of good over the years. His muscles were smooth but defined and Alex unapologetically let his tongue run over the lines of them, liking how they felt when they flexed and contracted against his mouth. Henry moaned and wound his hands into Alex's greasy, hospital scented hair. 

Alex let his mouth drag down the expanse of Henry's chest and to the waistline of his jeans and belt. With over-eager, trembling hands, he started to undo the belt buckle and slide the jeans off. Henry lifted himself to help Alex with it, and then the only thing standing in his way were Henry's boxers. He tapped two fingers against the very clear bulge and looked up at Henry, his eyes wide and innocent.

Henry nodded frantically, clearly not trusting himself to get anything out but a moan. 

As soon as Henry nodded, Alex was pulling at the boxers and urging them down, realizing just how much he had missed seeing Henry (his Henry) like this. Flushed cheeks, clenched fists, his eyes rolling back and his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. It didn't take him long to get Henry to finish––they had been apart too long for Alex to drag it out. Henry, still flushed, kissed Alex softly and started to pull down Alex's sweatpants, but Alex pushed his hand away. 

Henry raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

"Not tonight," Alex said, having a very realistic premonition of what might happen when Henry saw how his body looked now. "I'm tired and gross. Tonight was for you, baby."

Henry grinned at him. "You've already saved my bloody life," he chastised with a laugh, "there's no need to play hero anymore." He reached for the waistband again and Alex pushed himself away from him, grunting with the effort. 

"I need to take a shower," he said, starting to slide off of the couch and onto his feet. He would have to walk up the stairs, but it seemed manageable. They had a railing for him to hold onto, after all.

"Yeah, me too," Henry said, standing with him. "Want me to join you?"

Alex really wanted to say yes, but then that vision of Henry's horrified face popped up in his head again. Honestly, what scared him the most was that his body wasn't enough for Henry anymore. That if Henry took one look at him now, any action in his pants would quickly fizzle and die out. The thought of not being able to turn his boyfriend on anymore made Alex's stomach go sour. He'd told June about his fear, but she thought he was ridiculous for it. He couldn't shake it, though. It kept popping into his head. 

He shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm too gross. You can use our's. I'll use the guest one."

He started to walk off, oxygen tank in tow, but Henry caught his hand and forced him to turn back around. Alex had to try very hard not to look into his beautiful blue eyes because he knew how much harder it would be to stand his ground if he saw whatever was going on in them.

"Alex," Henry said. Alex couldn't quite place the tone. "Why are you being so ridiculous? We have a perfectly good, extremely large shower for a reason."

Alex shook his hand and pulled his hand free of Henry's grasp. "Stop," he begged, his eyes still focused on anything but Henry's. "I can take care of myself, okay? I don't need you to be with me every fucking second!" He didn't mean it. Of course he didn't mean it. He wanted Henry around as long as he was allowed, but he knew that Henry wouldn't back down. Henry knew that there was something wrong, something Alex wasn't telling him, and Alex didn't want him to even know about this overwhelming fear that Alex had inside. 

He wanted to take it back. He didn't want to hurt Henry, not like this, but it was too late now. Henry recoiled into himself and stuck his chin out. 

"Right, then. I'll just...I'll go have a shower. Come back to our room when you've pulled your head out of your arse."

With that, Henry turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Alex in the living room feeling worse than he had when the bullet tore through him.


	10. Ten

As soon as Henry got upstairs and into their room, he shut the door and put his back against it. He let himself sink down to the floor as he let Alex's words race through his mind, playing on a mind-numbing loop. They hadn't fought before, unless that time Henry ghosted Alex after the lake house counted as a fight, so he had no idea what to expect. Alex always had fire in his eyes and heart, but it had been a long time since Henry had been on the receiving end of it. Even back in the day, when Alex hated him, it never seemed real. Now it was burning Henry alive. He knew that there was something else going on (at least, he hoped there was something else going on) because he couldn't believe that Alex actually thought all of those things. In this relationship, Alex was the one who could have been seen as clingy or obsessive, not Henry. In his mind he was, but he never really knew how to express that in words and actions like Alex did. 

His best chance of cracking the code was, he figured, June. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number, holding it up to his ear as he leaned against the door. As it rang, his head swam with what-ifs. What if this fight was the fight that ended everything between them? What if Alex didn't love him anymore? What if he left the room and found that Alex had walked out on his own into the night?

June's voice came through on the other end after a few rings. "Henry?"

He sighed in relief. "Hi, June." If he and Alex broke up, would he still be allowed to talk to June and Nora?

"What's wrong?"

He thanked his lucky stars that she picked up on it so he didn't have to explain that he was upset. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to put his feelings into words. "I––I don't know. Alex and I were having a perfectly nice evening and then he..." he didn't want to be too graphic since this was Alex's sister. "I tried––I wanted to––he––"

"What, sex? Is this about sex?"

He groaned and pulled at his hair in frustration. "No. Sort of. Not sex, just...we were kissing and he wouldn't let me...then he wanted to take a shower so I offered to go with him. I'm worried about him passing out with all the steam and standing that long and I know how he adores it when I wash his hair but...Just, what did I do? Where did I go wrong? Does he...does he not––"

"Henry, no. No. Are you saying you think he doesn't love you anymore?"

There was a lump in his throat and he couldn't speak. He sobbed into the phone instead. 

"Oh, you perfect, royal idiot," June sighed.

"Hang on––"

"It's not that he doesn't love you. Of course he loves you. And I don't think I should be the one to tell you this because it's not really my place but––"

"Please," he begged, not caring how pathetic or desperate it sounded. He was desperate. He didn't want to lose the one person he loved more than anything in the world. If there was something, anything, he could do to fix things between them, he wanted to try it. He'd leave Alex alone for a while if that's what he wants. He'd go back to London and help Bea with charity stuff.

June sighed, giving in. "He talked to me about it the other day. I mean, at least I'm pretty sure that this is the same thing." She took a breath. It sounded like she was moving somewhere. A door thudded closed. "He was in a coma for eight days, not working his muscles and not eating anything, and I know that he was really anxious about the youth shelter opening and so he probably wasn't eating much of anything for at least a week before he was shot. And he's...he's been having trouble keeping things down."

"I don't––I'm afraid I don't quite understand."

"Before he was discharged, when the doctor evaluated him, he saw himself, his body, for the first time since before he was injured."

Henry nodded, recalling when Alex asked him to step out so he could have the doctor examine him. He thought it had been weird at the time since he'd seen Alex's naked body countless times before, but he had obliged. He thought that there might be some sort of mental component that Alex wanted to talk about without worrying Henry, so he let Alex have his space to get the help he might've needed. 

"Henry, he lost twenty pounds. And he's got a massive, stitched up wound on his chest."

Henry took a shaky breath, feeling it all click into place. Of course. Alex must have been ashamed about it, scared to let Henry see him now. Henry didn't understand why, though, considering he'd seen Alex at his worst already. He'd been the one to rub soothing circles into his back during finals week when the stress went straight to his stomach multiple nights in a row. 

"I don't care how he looks, though," Henry protested. "I love him. Does he not know that?"

"He knows that, Henry. Of course he knows that. But he...he's scared that he won't..." her voice trailed off.

"Won't what?" Henry's hand gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"You know, be able to...fuck it. He doesn't think he'll be able to get you hard anymore."

The air escaped Henry's lungs in a silent whoosh. "That's––that's preposterous!"

"I told him the same thing, but he wouldn't listen to me. I think you just have to––"

Henry stood abruptly, leaning on the door for support. "Right. I, uh, thank you, June. Truly."

He hung up and tossed the phone onto the bed, deciding what he needed to do in an instant. He opened the door and walked over to the guest room and stood outside the door to the bathroom. He could hear the water running. He could hear Alex mumble something to himself. He put his hand on the knob, willing for it to be unlocked. It was, thankfully, so he opened the door and stepped inside, closing it again behind him. 

The shower was glass so he could see Alex through it. He was smaller, sure, and his ribs did poke out a bit from under his skin, but it was still Alex. Alex scrubbing the hospital gunk off of him for the first time in two weeks. Even under it all, the grease and grime and jutting out bones, it was his Alex.

He didn't seem to notice Henry enter since his eyes were closed as he washed himself, so Henry quietly undressed and opened the shower door, stepping into the small, steamy area.

Alex turned and looked at him, his eyes wide with panic. Henry could see the scar now since Alex was facing him head on. It was puckered and stitched shut with a clear film secured over it to protect it from infection. It was unsettling only because it reminded Henry of what happened, but it didn't disgust him. If anything, it was a permanent reminder of Alex's love for him. 

"H––"

Henry took a step closer to him and kissed his forehead. "I'm going to wash your hair, love," he said.

Alex nodded slowly, looking down at the tiled floor. He turned around so Henry could wash his hair while he got the rest of the soap off his body. Henry grabbed the bottle of shampoo and rubbed it between his hands for a moment before he started to massage Alex's hair. Alex instantly melted into it, the tension leaving his body with a sigh. 

"I'm sorry," Alex whispered. "I didn't mean those things. I..I love having you with me every second."

Henry hummed in approval, massaging deeper into Alex's curls to ensure that all of the sweat and grease was coming out. 

"I'm scared, H. I look like a malnourished freak and I don't want you to have to pretend that you find me attractive anymore."

Henry kissed the back of his neck. "I don't have to pretend," he said with certainty. "I will always find you ridiculously attractive, no matter what."

Alex sighed as Henry started to wash the shampoo out. "I want to make you hard," he said. "I want to still be able to do that, but––"

Alex turned him around and put his hand under Alex's jaw, staring at him with a sweet smile. "And I'm telling you that you needn't worry about that, love." 

Alex opened his mouth to protest but Henry grabbed his hand and brought it down to his crotch. Alex's eyes widened as he tightened his grip around Henry who was, regrettably, already very hard from the mere sight of Alex's body. He felt like it might have been inappropriate at a time like this, but Alex's smile made him think that it might've been exactly what he needed. 

"Did––Did I do that?"

Henry laughed. "Who else, darling? It's you. It's always been you."

Alex smiled up at him and brushed his lips against Henry's, keeping his hand around Henry all the while. Henry pulled away and sheepishly tapped Alex's cock twice which made Alex's eyebrows shoot up. 

"Really? Now? Don't we have to talk about what a dick I was first?" 

Henry shook his head. "I'd rather skip to the make-up sex," Henry said. 

Alex smiled and kissed him again. He pulled back after a second, his eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't think I can actually––"

Henry put a finger on his lips. "Shh," he cooed. "Let me take care of you."

He sunk to his knees.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the promised land: Fluff.

When Alex woke up, the first thing he did was look to his right to see Henry's arms around his waist. His heart swelled in his chest, filled with such happiness and love that he couldn't even contain it. He turned and pressed a soft kiss to Henry's shoulder before sliding out from under his grasp. Henry groaned and changed positions but remained asleep, much to Alex's relief. After everything that had happened last night, he wanted to make sure he did this right. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd be able to do it, but he wanted to try. It was what Henry deserved after how Alex had behaved. It would be hard and a challenge, but it wasn't in Alex's nature to give up. As long as Henry stayed asleep, Alex thought he might be able to do it right.

He made his way downstairs, gripping the railing for support as he carried both himself and the oxygen tank down with him. He wished, vacantly, that David was here so he could have some king of distraction, but he knew it was for the best that he wasn't there. Henry and Alex needed a few days to themselves to get everything back in order and it wouldn't have been right for David to have to get thrown into the mess of it all. 

Once in the kitchen, he searched the cabinets for everything he needed. He got out Henry's favorite tea, a can of baked beans, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, eggs, black pudding, and bread. He did the vegetables first then put them in the small warming oven they had, then the beans, then the pudding, then the eggs. While the eggs fried, he boiled some water for the tea and got out a little tray they had purchased when they moved in. It was a pretty wooden thing with two legs that kicked out from under it––perfect for the best breakfast in bed meal. Since he wanted everything to look fit for a king (or a prince, he supposed), he used the fancy stuff they had purchased in case they ever needed things for a nice dinner or something. They had a pretty china tea collection from Princess Catherine that they had never used before, but Alex used it now. He got out a pretty teacup, a milk saucer, and a little ceramic container for the sugar. He got out a nice plate with pretty yellow and red roses on it and set it down on the tray with the tea things. 

After the eggs were done, he started getting everything out of the warming drawer and onto the plate, putting two pieces of bread in the toaster for the final touch. He used Google to help him arrange all of the food right and then got out a cloth napkin and silverware. He poured the hot water into the nice teapot and put two tea bags in with it, hoping that two bags would be enough flavor. He knew nothing about tea. He made a mental note to ask Henry about it later. 

Then, for the final two touches, he got a rose from the display in the small foyer/entryway where they always kept flowers on the little round table, and a piece of paper. He folded the paper in half and wrote "HRH Prince Henry of Amazing Shower Blowjobs" in the most elegant script he could manage on the front. Then, on the inside, he wrote:

Johnny Cash to June Carter Cash,

You influence me for the better. You’re the object of my desire, the #1 Earthly reason for my existence. I love you very much.

Satisfied, he grinned to himself and picked up the tray to take it to Henry. It was probably a bit too heavy for him to carry and his chest whined in protest as he started walking towards the stairs, but it didn't really matter. He left his oxygen tank in the kitchen because he couldn't carry both at the same time, but he felt like he didn't need it. Henry was his oxygen, and each painful, labored step on the stairs meant that he was just another second closer to seeing that adorable surprised face on Henry when he saw what Alex believed to be a true culinary triumph. 

When he entered their bedroom, Henry was awake and sitting up. His hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes were wide and searching. When he finally saw Alex, though, all of that fear and confusion washed away and was replaced by a look of such fondness that Alex thought he might melt into the floor. 

"Morning, sweetheart," Alex said, stepping into the room. 

Henry tried to get up, but Alex shook his head at him. 

"Nuh-uh," he protested, "none of that. I'm giving you breakfast in bed."

Henry rolled his eyes and sunk back down against the headboard, but that smile never left his face. Alex smiled back and set the tray over his legs, kicking the little legs out so it could stand on its own. He gave Henry a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting down on the edge of the bed, suddenly very wiped from his morning activities. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing and he felt Henry's cool hand come onto his shoulder, giving him a squeeze.

"You alright, love?"

Alex nodded but kept his eyes closed. He was regretting leaving that stupid oxygen contraption in the kitchen. "Just...out of breath."

He opened his eyes and tried to shoot Henry a smile, but Henry was looking at him like he was an extra special kind of idiot. Which, to be fair, he was. 

"Your cart, Alex! The oxygen. Where did you leave it? Why aren't the tubes in your nose? Are you light-headed? Dizzy? I––"

"I'm fine," he assured him. "I'll go get it in a minute. I just want to catch my breath for a second and watch you enjoy your stupid, flavorless breakfast I so kindly made for you even though it goes against every flavor law I believe in."

Henry's anxious face settled back into his dopey, lovestruck smile. He looked at the tray and picked up the note and the rose, pulling the flower to his face and smelling it. "You are the most infuriating, most romantic man I have ever met."

Alex nudged him with his shoulder. "Read it," he urged.

Henry looked at the front of the card and rolled his eyes almost immediately. "Oh, I'm the prince of 'Amazing Shower Blowjobs,' now, am I? Did I not have that title before? I could have sworn I got that crown after that time with the––"

"You're an ass," Alex laughed. "It was supposed to be like, you're amazing sexually but you're also amazing in, like, every other way, too. Last night was...it was everything. Honestly, H, only you can somehow both get me off and get me through an emotional crisis at the same time."

Henry beamed at him in appreciation and opened the card to read Johnny Cash's words. "Well, I suppose Johnny Cash might be more romantic than you..."

Alex poked him in the ribs. Henry went to poke his chest, too, but stopped before actually touching him. His eyes fluttered down to Alex's bare chest and Alex felt his cheeks flush with nervousness and anxiety. He realized, a bit late, that he probably should have put a shirt on or something. Even though Henry had assured him that the way he was now didn't matter to him (in a bad way), he still felt sort of sick to his stomach about his appearance. The closing wound on his chest made him feel especially vulnerable because it felt like shoving his decision in Henry's face––reminding him of what Alex had done for him. Well, at least, that's what Alex thought. Personally, it didn't feel like something he had done for Henry. It had been selfish of him to jump in front of him, in a way. 

There was no way that Alex would have been able to handle Henry getting shot. There was simply no version of that in which Alex would come out okay, even if Henry survived it. And, if it came down to it, Alex would much rather die than rid the world of his sweet, big-hearted prince. 

He put his hand on Henry's cheek, stroking his thumb along his soft skin. "I won't break, you know," Alex whispered, feeling like a normal decibel might shatter this delicate moment. He could see the thoughts swirling in Henry's head.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Alex shook his head and brought his other hand to Henry's face, too. "You won't. You couldn't. You're the only thing keeping me from falling apart."

Henry didn't reply, so Alex brought his lips up to his. It was soft and delicate and tender, and Alex wouldn't have it any other way. It would be a while before he was strong and well enough to ravish his boyfriend properly.

"Although," he said, clicking his tongue, "it did hurt me to make this breakfast for you. Your people really don't know flavors, do they? Honestly. So painful."

Henry chuckled in that deep, soft way that sent tremors through Alex's body. "Physical or emotional pain?"

Alex pretended to think about it for a second. "Honestly, a bit of both. The emotional pain was a lot stronger, though. Physical pain came when I grabbed the kettle without using the stupid handle."

Henry rolled his eyes and started to dig in. "This is surprisingly very good," he said.

"Surprisingly?" Alex gasped. "Excuse me, your fucking Highness, but I happen to be an excellent chef. If the whole lawyer thing doesn't work out, I could open a restaurant. It'd be successful."

Henry wagged his finger at Alex. "Ah, it would be successful, but not for the food. People would pay any price to try a hot, former sex scandal's fried eggs, regardless of flavor."

Alex huffed at him. "Hey, success is success. But, I mean, if this meal isn't cutting it for you, I can just––" he started to lift the tray, but Henry grabbed his wrists.

"I didn't say I didn't love it."


End file.
